


In Sickness and In Health

by UnchartedHeart



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Boys' Love, Comfort, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnchartedHeart/pseuds/UnchartedHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This follows on from my first fanfic, which for me acts as a catalyst for Steve realising that he can't deny his feelings for Danny any longer, not when life is this short and this fragile. Danny's sick. Steve cares. A weed gets killed. Twice. Some swearing, apologies. There's a polka dot blanket and Chin grins and Kono giggles. It's all very exciting :) </p>
<p>Thanks for reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, this work follows on in my mind's eye from my first work, Borrowed Time. It's taken me longer than expected to package what I think should happen to our boys, but I'm getting there. I was originally going to publish all of it at once, but I've decided to drip feed it through, so I can get a feel for what you guys think. Believe it or not, that's very important to me.
> 
> I do have a bit of an odd sense of humour, so bear with me at times, okay? I was in all sorts of moods and all sorts of places when this got typed, so hopefully it won't seem too disjointed.
> 
> I don't own any of these brilliant characters, or anyone. Human beings should be born free, and even figments of my imagination have their freedom. I didn't think about what happened, it just came to me. :)
> 
> I want to dedicate this work to my own dear friend Steven, who reminded me what love is and made me realise how lucky we are to have the capacity to give and receive it. It keeps the world turning in space, guys, so spread it around :)
> 
> OH and I'm proud to welcome Obama to Belfast today. You should see the amount of riflemen. I would like to put it out there now that the vast majority of Northern Irish people are not trigger-happy political revolutionaries. We just speak quickly and tonelessly, and we love tatey bread, honest. 
> 
> G8 Summit. In Fermanagh. Holy. Shit. History in the making. This is surreal.

Steve knew something was wrong the second Danny uttered that he was going to give Longboards with the team a pass tonight. He’d see them all Monday, bright and early. It had been a nice enough Friday night regardless, Steve reflected from the deck chair out on his lanai, with the rest of the gang, minus Danny’s ranting. Steve had even bought everyone a round. Not the same without Danny, though.

Chin and Kono, perceptive as ever, had picked up on Steve’s unsettled mood, and shared a knowing glance across the table.

“Can’t go a single night without your boy, can you, Boss?” Kono teased, unable to resist. Chin, being Chin, grinned a sort of Chin grin that poked a kinder, less direct sort of fun at his friend’s forlornness, without having to say a word. Steve had blushed, avoided the look on Catherine’s face, and declared that everyone deserved another drink after a week like they’d had, and it was on him. Kono pretended to have a heart attack. Chin Chin-grinned.

_Good save, Smooth Dog_ , he thought to himself, and proceeded to enjoy the evening like it was his last on earth, just to prove the cousins wrong. Even if they were right. That was totally besides the point.

Steve had yet to ascertain exactly what he was going to do about a certain detective who was more short, blonde and feisty than tall, dark and handsome. But what he _did_ know was that there was something that stuck with that man.

Steve sighed, and the leaves rippled on the trees around him. Steve sighed again, just in case he had gained superpowers from the warm beer in his hand to control the winds. However, the leaves stopped waving, and Steve was brought back down to mortal heights.

_Definitely one too many to drink,_ he mused, and conducted a little private science experiment by pouring the rest of the beer onto a thirsty weed. He giggled to himself as he pictured waking up tomorrow morning and the weed looking decidedly green around the petioles. A hung-over plant, knocking on his door, offering to hook him up with some sweet chlorophyll for a Paracetemol or four…

As Steve’s snorting subsided, the only sound punctuating the night air was again that of the waves breaking a little hungrily on the beach before him. When the taxi had dropped him home, he’d run (stumbled) upstairs and changed (fell) into his board shorts. He wasn’t sober enough to go for a swim, but not drunk enough to think that it was the best idea that had ever occurred to a human being. He just liked the feel of the ocean air on his skin. Despite what Danny said, cargo pants were _not_ the love of his life. So he just stretched his back out on the deck chair, and contemplated getting up and going to bed.

He would’ve, but he knew in the back of his mind that it would be empty, given that Catherine had to be present and accounted for at 0600 at base tomorrow. Not even the pleasant thrum of alcohol in his veins would mitigate the loneliness he would feel, had felt, lying in the dark in his big, huge, gaping bed for months. Besides, he was comfortable here wrapped up in the darkness, trusting his night-time security to the stars with the true languor and passivity that only the truly plastered possess.

Steve wanted to call Danny, ask him,

“Have you seen the stars tonight, Danno?” and tell him that he absolutely _must_ look out his tiny window, because they were making the night sky come alive, unlike the plant that he may have just killed but Mother Nature would forgive him because it was for the sake of Science and it had only been a weed.

But apparently forgiveness was not Mother Nature’s intention, and a chill crept into the night air, seeping into Steve’s bones. His muscles quivered, and the hair on his arms and legs stood on end. He waggled his legs in the air a bit, and realised how silly he must look, how silly he was being about everything.

“I wonder how I’d put it,” Smooth Dog asked of himself. “Dear Danny, Danny-Boy, Dannoooo, I want the D, and I love you soooo,” he sang merrily to no-one in particular. He then checked himself, looking around in case his impromptu _a capella_ happened to have a live audience. But the words had been swept away unheard on the sound of the tide, pushing and pulling on the edge of the world. Thankfully. Even a drunk Steve knew, as did every SEAL in his unit, that he was no Mariah Carey. So. Serenading was out.

Then, as only a drunk can, Steve started to think about the age-old question of trees falling in forests and no-one hearing it and is it still a sound?

And, in a lucid moment, Steve declared to himself that, “Yes, of course it’s still a sound,” because Danny didn’t know how he felt, but he still felt this way, didn’t he? Still felt it, deep down within?

Really, Steve had had it. Endless platonic foreplay, enough already. He was calling him, right _now._ Telling him -

Except that Danny must have been bone-tired to ditch them tonight. It’d been a long, long week, with cases touching on all of Danny’s soft spots, and it must be closer to morning than night-time now. It was his weekend with Grace, and he was picking her up early tomorrow… today. Steve pictured the man asleep and dead to the world, flopped down on his folding bed with his blasted tie still knotted around his neck, shoes still on, golden eyelashes catching the silver moonlight…

He yawned widely. Thinking about Danny sleeping was quite sobering, Steve found. It was not a little creepy, and it gave him a headache to boot. No, he wouldn’t touch his phone tonight, Steve decided, and dropped it, entrusting its safe-keeping to the weed he’d drowned, telling it not to check his internet history _s’il vous plait_. Although, if the plant were to grow fingers and do so, it would find a lot of recent hits on UniformDating.com, and a certain Navy SEAL seeking a policeman (preferably short and blonde) for some… what? Companionship? Carguments and the occasional shoulder-bump? Genial bickering while getting shot at? Private investigation of, well, privates? It was all very confusing, trying to slot his relationship with Danny into a neat little 4x4 box.

Christ. Steve had it bad, and he knew it. He just wished he knew what _it_ was.

He waggled his feet some more.

Steve didn’t remember when he started looking at men as more than just beer and football buddies.

What he did remember was the crumpled heap of the blanket he’d dragged off the sofa and brought out with him earlier. Cogs whirred, and before he knew it, Steve was curled up on the deck chair, underneath a sandy blanket with polka dots that he hid on top of his bedroom wardrobe whenever Danny came over. No need to give him any more ammo than he already has, Steve justified, and he noted his brilliance at picking such a hiding place, given Danno’s height. He cuddled himself in the twilight, alone. It didn’t feel that way, with nature above, before and all around him. He adjusted his breathing to fall in pace with that of the ocean and was soon fast asleep.

I wish I could say that, romantically, Steven McGarrett fell asleep with fuzzy thoughts of his partner wrapping him up warm and safe, like driftwood lashed to a life raft. But this is real life. And in real life, Steve passed out, still confused as fuck as to what to do about Danny, and awoke three hours later to kill the same weed again by being violently sick over its carcass and his phone. Poor weed. Such is life, I suppose.


	2. Chapter 2

A typical Monday. Afternoon sun splitting the trees, school kids all over the island pouring out of class for the day, orchids blooming lazily in the muggy heat.

Chin, Kono and Steve stood before the only door to the dingy warehouse, in full Kevlar and heavily armed. No Danny. But no time to waste. Chin approached the door, drew back his leg, and was halfway to delivering a shattering kick to the flimsy wood when Steve’s phone rang.

A personalised ringtone.

“Why Don’t You Love Me?” by Beyoncé puncturing the silence before the storm.

Steve had never answered a phone so fast in his life.

“May 18th 1996.”

Danny’s voice had a thick edge, like he was speaking around tissue paper.

“Danny? What?”

Chin and Kono shared a brief, knowing look. Steve muttered something vague about Gracie playing with his phone. Kids these days, really.

“I think I broke my streak.”

“Danny, what the hell are you –”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to make the bust, Steve.”

He hadn’t seen him for an entire weekend. What the hell was going on? He tried really, really hard to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“What? Why?” _Nice one, Smooth Dog._

“Because, babe. Because – HEY, YEAH, KEEP DRIVIN’, BUDDY – I am currently busy advertising Kamekona’s lunchtime shrimp special to, I dunno, maybe thousands of commuters passing me on the Kamehameha highway…”

“Aw, not in the Camaro!” Steve hissed under his breath. “Er, I mean, do you need a hand?”

“First off, I managed to throw myself from MY precious vehicle before being violently sick on the hard shoulder. So the upholstery’s just fine, thanks for asking. Secondly, Steven McGarrett, do not, under any circumstances, let this opportunity to pop a narco stash go just so you can come and play nurse. A taxi’s on the way. Gonna clean myself up, or I’ve a feeling that the nice taxi driver might get a sudden case of amnesia and drive right on past.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s all over the tarmac. Kinda gross. Feel sorry for the highway maintenance crew. I could send you a picture if you want…”

“No! No, thanks. But you’re sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just something I ate. Last time I trust Kamekona’s culinary expertise, or lack thereof. Gonna head home and indulge the simple bliss of being sick in the privacy of a porcelain bowl.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. Kono made a face at him, equal parts anxiety and impatience in the furrows on her forehead. Steve gave her a quick thumbs up. Time to go.

“Oh, you mean the toilet that doesn’t flush right? Good luck with that, D. Alright, partner. I can pick up the Camaro later, and bring you some food maybe?”

“Sure, sure. Sounds good, nothing too heavy thoug – hold up. How can you - I’ve got the car keys.”

“I know. So do I.”

It was out before Steve even knew it. He waited for it.

“…I should’ve known. Exactly when did you get a key cut for, and this is the important bit, MY car?”

“What? Sometimes you don’t let me drive, and that’s just silly. So I –”

“You are UNbelievable…”

“I know, I know, but Danno? Time and place?”

Steve held his breath, preparing himself for the tirade of abuse coming his way. But Danny just sighed, acquiescing. Which sent a little warning flag waving in Steve’s brain.

“Tell Kono to give them all roundhouse kicks to remember. Chin… He still knows what to do with that shotgun, I presume?”

“I will, and definitely. Get yourself home safe, Danny. And promise me you’ll call Rachel. Food poisoning can get ugly fast. You’ll need someone with you.”

“Why do you hate me?”

Steve grinned widely.

“Well, c’mon now, we both know THAT’S not true.”

“Shaddup,” Danny groaned. “Taxi’s here – YO, BUDDY, DOWN HERE – go vanquish some evil, Super SEAL – NO I HAVE NOT JUST BEEN SICK, REALLY, HOW PRESUMPTIOUS – sorry about the bust.”

“No worries. See you soon.”

Steve puffed his chest out a little. It was sort of nice to have a cheerleader.

“Why does your phone smell like sick?” Kono whispered.

Chin eyes sparkled with amusement as he mouthed a sardonic,

“Ready?”

Steve nodded, took a deep breath to refocus, and barely had time to say,

“Take two,” before Chin had barrelled the door down, in his quiet yet awesome way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, would have posted sooner but I was painting, making my own ice cream and boxing last night! Slept into two this afternoon and have been cleaning, rabble rabble, enjoy! x Had a good suggestion to try things from Danny's POV, maybe in a later chapter my lovelies? 
> 
> DAMN RIGHT IT'S BETTA THAN YOURS 
> 
> :D I have Kelis on the brain. No H8 xx

It was just after seven o’ clock when they’d wrapped up the case in true Five-O fashion and Steve’s truck rolled to a halt outside Danny’s apartment. In Danny’s absence, Steve may or may not have implemented a few non-standard interrogation techniques in order to make the grunts squeal the names of their bosses. Danny’s perpetual insistence on following the book by the letter was lost on Steve. A hop, skip and a legal jump later, Hawaii was free from a few more mobsters circulating drugs and waving guns in the same time zone as the people Steve loved.

Steve hadn’t felt right leaving all the paperwork to Kono and Chin, but after he’d been caught staring blankly at his computer’s monitor for a few minutes, Chin had poked his head into his office, saying,

“Hey, Steve. We’ve got it covered, brah. Kono can drop off the Camaro later. You have no idea how long she’s wanted to drive that thing.” Steve grinned, picturing Danny’s aneurysm at the very thought. “Go check on Danny for us.”

Steve had thanked the stars above for having someone like calm, collected Chin to act as the voice of reason, and ducked out of the office and into his truck, just as Chin had a quick word with Kono that made her literally jump with glee.

And now here he was, armed with absolutely nothing but a six-pack of Gatorade for the electrolytes and an armful of DVDs to distract Danny from his food poisoning.

The first thing Steve noticed was that the door was lying slightly ajar.

Instantly, every nerve in his body went on high alert. Robbers, robbers with knives, goons with guns, murderers with means…

It had been a long day, Steve reflected as he slid out of his truck, thankful that he’d been in too great a hurry to even remove his Kevlar. But he’d be damned if he was going to let some lowlife take advantage of his partner when he was sick. He reached for his gun, clicked off the safety and stalked towards the front door.

He resisted the urge to call out to his friend as he slipped into the hallway/living room/kitchenette/bedroom, silent as a 190 pound navy SEAL can make themselves when their partner’s life may depend on it. His breath caught when he heard a contorted sound coming from behind the closed bathroom door.

He abandoned all stealth then, crossing the ridiculously small space in three strides and twisting the door’s handle so hard that he worried distantly that it might break off.

Locked.

The words tore from his lips, feeling like they were coming from somewhere, someone else;

“Danny? Danny! Are you alright?” as he hammered against the door, feeling it give slightly. “Move away from the door, D, I’m coming in!” Steve warned, tensing and bracing himself to barge the cheap door down.

Before he could, however, there was a small click as the door was unlocked from within, and the door opened itself. Steve found himself looking down at Danny’s bloodshot, blue eyes looking innocently up at him from where he was kneeling on the floor, bracing himself against the doorframe. On his knees before him.

Before Steve could react, on any level, Danny elicited a plaintive groan and dragged himself slowly back in the direction of the toilet, where he proceeded to dry-heave into its depths in the most dignified fashion that a person can when they have an audience.

Steve blinked, regained himself rapidly, and made quick work of deducing that Danny was, in fact, not being murdered in his cramped bathroom with his shower hose.

He took it all in as he would a crime scene, regardless, noting the almost-empty tumbler of water at the sink, the cold-and-flu remedy packets lying in chaotic debris at Danny’s feet. Danny coughed, wincing, and spat into the bowl, making a face.

“Please, do come in. Take a load off, babe. I’ll be with you in just a moment.” His intonation was deeper than usual, and sharp. Irritated. Speaking through a blocked nose.

Steve made a few cautious steps towards his partner, almost tripping over a small MP3 docking station, which was playing something that sounded a lot like the rushing of the –

“Is that the ocean?” Steve asked, lifting the cheap electronics to his ear.

“Why yes, yes it is. Good ears.”

“And you’re listening to that because…?”

“I was informed that it was relaxing. Instead, it made me vomit. Twice.”

“I thought you hated the sound of the ocean?”

“I do indeed. I put it on the minute the taxi dropped me off here, in the hope that it might make me sleep. It made me feel like I was on a ship. Between that and that plate lunch of seafood,” and here Danny gulped, scowling through the taste of his own bile. The wave of nausea passed, and he continued, “And I got seasick. In my own shitty living room.” Danny made a weak grin up at Steve that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Steve frowned, remembering Danny’s strong aversion to anything to do with the sea. Other than, of course, Victoria’s Secret models posing for a shoot in the surf. Steve mentally resolved to take it up another time. Not the issue here. Danny could be… distracting.

“You feeling alright, partner?” Steve asked cautiously.

“Yeah,” Danny replied. “I’m okay. Just something I ate…”

“Oh,” Steve returned. “If that’s the case, why have you been taking these?” He nudged the empty wrappers on the tiled floor with a foot.

“Well, um,” Danny began hesitantly, blushing.  “I may also have a teensy bit of man flu.”

Steve gave him his best laser-beam stare. “… and may have had it since, eh, Friday?” Danny confessed.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Steve asked, frustration building in his voice. “How did you manage Grace if you were feeling like hell?”

“Because, Steven, I may not be a decorated Super SEAL, but I’m a grown man, and no little virus is going to stop me from spending the weekend with my daughter. She’s the only reason why I’m here.”

Steve wondered if he meant here, geographically speaking; or here, as in metaphysical raison d’être. Or both. And he wondered what it’s like to love someone that much.

Steve thought of his friend, careful not to blow his nose too often and to mask his aches and pains behind laughter while swinging Grace into his arms, tickling her, cooking for her, listening to everything she said as if it were the most important thing in the world. They didn’t make them like Daniel Williams any more, of that at least Steve was certain.

He knelt down and gave his shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze, almost without registering it.

“You must be exhausted.”

 _Don’t worry, I’m here,_ the pads of his fingertips murmured through Danny’s soiled shirt. When did his body start acting of its own accord again?

Danny just sighed, slumping into the touch.

“Been sick, too many times to count. Haven’t really slept since… for a few days,” Danny admitted through dry lips. “I tried my best to ignore it in work today, but it got the better of me when I was behind the wheel, s’all.”

Steve shifted his fingers up to Danny’s neck, feeling the weak pulse beating wildly in his carotid.

“I know, babe, I know. It’s okay, D, but I’m gonna have to get you up in a minute. You’re really dehydrated, and I’ve got Gatorade going warm in my truck.”

Danny just sighed again, yawned, and looked up at him. _Yeah, okay,_ his eyes said.

Reading the uncharacteristic compliance as well as big, aching trust in those blue depths, Steve moved his hands to deftly undo Danny’s tie, askew from when he must’ve tried to do so himself. He firmly resisted the urge to cup Danny’s cheek, tilt his face up to his, feel the stubble there scratch across his palm…

“I’m not even going to bother asking if Rachel knows,” Steve went on, throwing the tie disdainfully aside and checking Danny’s temperature, “because frankly, I know the answer. You reek of male pride. And –” Steve sniffed curiously.

“I know, I know. Stomach contents,” Danny mumbled, eyes fluttering open and closed.

“No, actually, I was going to say you smell like… lemon bleach.”

“Ah. That would be the new shampoo, babe. Citrus Censation, with nourishing eucalyptus extr…” Danny trailed off, seeing the flicker of laughter in Steve’s otherwise steely eyes. “…it was cheap in Wal-Mart…?” he tried desperately, clutching vainly at the straws of his manhood.

“If you need to puke again, Danno, just let me know and I can, y’know, hold your hair back,” Steve deadpanned.

“Aw, fuck you, man.”

There was the Danny that he knew, and maybe loved a little.


End file.
